


No one but him

by Winnetou



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Drugs, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-24 00:25:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15618372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winnetou/pseuds/Winnetou
Summary: Sherlock realized something and he has a problem with it. And John has a problem with Sherlock.





	No one but him

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Z nikim innym](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12594472) by [Winnetou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winnetou/pseuds/Winnetou). 



Sherlock did not know when it began. When he thought about it, he had the impression that it lasted forever, that there was no "before". He did not even notice when his life began orbiting around John Watson.

Sherlock did not really know when it began, but he remembered perfectly when he realized it.

***

They ran through a tangle of narrow alleys; John did not even know what part of London it was but it was normal. He was used to this already. In front of him he saw Sherlock's fluttering coat, and he could hear the cries of pursuit behind him. Usually, they were chasing someone, but this time the roles were reversed. At the moment, they did not see people who chased them, but John knew they had not escaped them for long. He felt his colic catching him. In his mind he cursed Lestrade, who was supposed to be on the spot with support, and he had not appeared yet.

Suddenly the detective, who was running ahead, turned sharply to the left. On the run, he grabbed John's hand and dragged him along. The confused doctor only noticed that it was a narrow passage between the buildings cluttered up by some large-size garbage. Sherlock pushed him against the wall behind some wardrobe and pressed his body to him. For a moment, John had no idea what it was about, but he quickly understood his friend's intentions.

Sherlock had seen this alley before, and so he lead their escape to find this place. He counted on the fact that if they did not manage to escape, they would hide here. Now they were standing in a narrow aisle, and the old wardrobe was blocking them from the street. John was wearing a bright jacket, so Holmes pressed himself to him and covered him with his own cloak. He bowed his head low and turned his face towards Watson so that the pale skin did not betray them in the dark.

They stood like this, not even bothering to breathe deeply even though they both were out of breath. The pursuit was getting closer and closer, and John had the impression that their hearts were pounding so loudly that there was no chance that someone would not hear them. After a moment, there was the distinct patter of many feet and screams that first approached and then moved away. The pursuers did not notice them and ran next to them.

For a long time they were still afraid to move in case those people returned, although it was unlikely, because police sirens were heard from afar – Lestrade and his "cavalry" appeared. Finally, Sherlock lifted his head, leaning on John's shoulder, but did not move away. Those minutes when they stood hugging each other, he realized that he had never been so close to his friend. He looked at Watson with some fear, not knowing what he would see on his face. John looked at him intently, as if looking expectantly. The lower height made him have to perk up his head a bit, and it occurred to Sherlock that he would like John to always look at him like that. He felt that his heart was beating again at a crazy pace, and his legs were like cotton wool, and that it was not just a crazy escape. John's scent filled his nostrils – a mixture of sweat, aftershave, and something hospital. They were so close that Sherlock could see every wrinkle on the face of a former soldier despite darkness. He knew he should move away, that it was weird and that if he did not move, John would certainly push him away. Nothing happened, however. They looked at each other in this dark alley, and God knows what would happen if Greg did not find them at last.

Sherlock did not say a word to John when they were returning to the apartment by taxi, or later when they were there and Watson looked as if he wanted to ask him something. The detective ostentatiously did not pay attention to him, so the doctor gave up and went to bed. Holmes breathed a sigh of relief when the door at the top closed. In this dark, narrow alley, for a moment they were so close that it would only be enough to lean down to kiss John. And, for God's sake, he really wanted to do it.

Sherlock Holmes knew he had a lot to think about.

***

Now Sherlock was lying in the dark, like he was then, on the couch and thinking intensely. That day, or rather that night, he decided that John would never know what Sherlock feels for him, because it would probably destroy their friendship. Detective writhed of fear at the thought. He was sure that if a friend left him, something terrible would happen to him. Most people thought of Holmes as a type of cold bastard who is not capable of love. It was not true – Sherlock could love. The problem was, no one ever returned his feelings, so he was not about to jeopardize what had developed between him and John.

Since then, Sherlock has not allowed himself to fix his gaze on John. Even if a friend noticed a sudden increase in distance between them, he did not comment. From outside, everything looked the same. It was worse inside, and more specifically inside Sherlock. John's constant presence was both solace and torture for him, but he kept appearances bravely. But every time his doctor was dating someone, Sherlock felt as though invisible knives were stabbing his heart. John, fortunately, never noticed anything. Recently, however, it was worse. Watson's newest girlfriend was much more patient and forgiving than the previous ones, and somewhere in the detective's bowels there was fear that she was the only one. He could not imagine a life where some Mrs Watson would be. He did not want to imagine it. He wanted John to be happy, but with him. With no one but him.

He was lying on the sofa now, trying to control his running thoughts, his trembling hands and his heart breaking wildly in his chest. He knew, however, that he would not succeed. He was already on the verge of endurance and his eyes were still running away to the bookshelf. There, behind the fat volume of the English-Russian dictionary, the last package of cocaine was hidden, which John and Mycroft had not confiscated yet. Being aware that he could not resist himself for too long, he tried to forget that John was in a restaurant at the moment with a woman whose name Sherlock did not even try to remember. Forget, forget, forget. About him, about her, about a stupid heart that he once naively thought he did not have. He wanted the respite so much. Maybe when he wakes up, John will come back and Sherlock will be able to pretend that she does not exist.

In the end, withdrawal took over. He staggered to his feet and walked across the living room. He stumbled over a chair and held the table down so he would not tip over. The image blurred on the edge of his field of vision, and only the damned bookshelves were clear. He had it at hand, when suddenly the room was flooded by a blinding light.

"Sherlock?"

Surprised John was standing in the door. The blinded detective again had to hold on to the table.

"Sherlock, what's with you? "

The doctor looks worried, although Sherlock found it difficult to tell, because he was overwhelmed by relief that John had come back.

"Are you looking for cigarettes again? You will not find anything, I threw them all away. "

A friend approached him slowly, still watching closely.

"That's not it, John," Sherlock ran his tongue over his chapped lips. "It is worse. "  
"What does it mean «worse»?"  
"Much worse. "

Finally, John got it. He looked at Holmes with a look that compassion mixed with resignation.

"But you have not taken it yet, right? "  
"No, but…"

This "but" hung in the air. Sherlock did not want to finish the sentence, because he would have to admit that he would definitely get stoned if John did not come back, and that only his presence saved him. Watson sighed in resignation, walked over to his friend and grabbed his arm.

"Come, you have to lie down. "

Without any protests, Sherlock allowed him to move into the bedroom. He calm down a little. John came back, so everything is fine. He can take control of his demons. All without exception.

The doctor planted his "patient" on the bed and looked at him sadly. The weight of this look crushed Sherlock. He felt that he had failed the only person he really wanted. When John went out, he thought maybe it was better that he would not watch him in that state any more. John, however, returned; he turned off the light in the living room and brought a blanket. He covered the surprised Sherlock, then laid himself down on the bed, pulling him closer. He leaned his friend's shaggy head on shoulder and embraced him.

"John..." he did not know what he wanted to say. The behaviour of the other man completely took him aback.  
"I will not leave you like this," he said, as if he could guess what Sherlock could not express. "If necessary, I will watch over you all night. "  
"But tomorrow you have morning duty... "  
"Pray that it would be peaceful. "  
"You do not have to sit here with me. "  
"Oh yeah, sure! "

After all, the detective did not really want John to go, but he did not dare ask him to stay. He was shamelessly well, because he had him for his own at last. Well, maybe not quite the way he wanted to, but still. John's warmth warmed him.

In all this situation, John felt remarkably composed. He was angry, but decided that he would get it straight to Sherlock when he will come to his senses enough that it will get through to him. The only thing now was to have this moron calm down. He felt Sherlock tremble in his embrace. He wondered what had made him so upset.

They lay there for a moment when the brunet began to fidget. He settled himself more comfortably and untangled his hand from the blanket. Hesitantly, he embraced John on the waist and clenched his trembling hand on his shirt.

"I'm sorry, John. "

The voice was quiet but clear. Watson decided that Sherlock really must be wrong since he apologized.

"Try to sleep. "  
"I'm addicted. "  
"Realization is the first step to healing," John tried to joke, though he did not laugh.

After these words, there was a long silence and John felt that his roommate had fallen asleep, but then he heard the quiet baritone again.

"I do not want to heal myself, John. I have become addicted to you. "

For that, Dr. Watson did not have an answer. He felt a hot wave spread over his body. Every time he thought he knew Sherlock backwards and forwards, he surprised him with something new.

***

Sherlock woke up late in the morning and did not immediately remember what had happened the previous evening. In the end, however, his brilliant memory started. The memories returned, and with them fear of what John could think. He lay on his back for a long time, listening, until he was sure that the doctor was not at home. He dragged himself out of bed and went to the kitchen. He made strong tea and roamed with her to the living room. He noticed the message from John almost immediately.

There was a dictionary on his laptop, from which a card with the energetic handwriting stuck out. Sherlock began to read with some fear:

_I found your "stocks", I hope that this is the only one, because I did not manage to search the flat, but for God's sake, I will do it after work. And if I find something else, I will strangle you with my bare hands._   
_\- John_   
_PS. Eat something!_

Sherlock grimaced and snorted as he read the postscript. He thought maybe if John had fulfilled his threat, it would all be simpler.

After returning, Watson actually turned the flat upside down and said with satisfaction that he had found nothing. He also forced two toasts in Sherlock, threatening to suffocate again. Holmes did not protest, enjoying the friend at home. He had all day to think about himself and after rejecting everything that was not true, it came out to him that his feelings about John were insane, destructive and frighteningly real. He did everything to control them, so when the doctor returned from work, he was again the same cynical arrogant roommate as he always did. In his memory palace, he created a black door with the inscription "Do not open!" and hid behind it all that he did not want to remember, but he could not forget. He did not know how long he would last, but he had a goddamned certainty that he would not be this close to the edge this time.

Despite all his attempts, John could not help but notice the change in his friend's behaviour. It worried him because he did not know what caused this nervousness and the mood swing. Although he found drugs, he was convinced that Sherlock had not taken anything for a long time, but he also knew that the previous evening he was only a step away from return to addiction. However, the most disturbing of all symptoms was that the detective not only did not refuse his help, but on the contrary, he clutched at him as if John was the last resort. He was afraid to think what could have caused him such a state.

Another problem was that even when Sherlock was already asleep, John did not leave. He lay in bed all night with him stroking his thin arm and trying to understand what was happening to Sherlock. And to him, if it's about that. Holmes's arms that held him tight did not make it easier to focus. Just like the fact that he heard his own name spoken several times in sleep.

***

Days passed, they changed in weeks and months, and their shaky arrangement lasted in the best. Sherlock no longer fell into drug-like states, and John pretended that the detective was still just a friend. And it lasted until John's birthday.

That day at breakfast Watson announced that he was going with his girlfriend for supper. Sherlock accepted it calmly, although as usual in such situations, he had the impression that his heart was pumping not blood, but razor blades. For the rest of the day he tried to distract and not think about the vision of John and that woman spending his birthday evening together. He was surprised when he heard the door slamming after 10 pm. When John stood in the doorstep Sherlock looked at him with a carefully indifferent expression.

"Why so early?"

Watson, without a word, threw his jacket on the couch and walked to the bar. He poured generously into the glasses, handed one to Sherlock, then sat down in his own chair. Although he said nothing, Sherlock deduced quite a bit. The fact that John has already come back meant that something went wrong (he assumed an argument). He also smelled the smell of cigarettes and beer, and that meant a pub. He knew that John did not go to such places for dates, so he had to be there alone (this only confirmed the argument). The doctor himself interrupted his further conclusions.

"I broke up with Maggie. "

This confession surprised Holmes.

"Why? She seemed to be perfect for you. "  
"I think she was too perfect," John grimaced. "Nothing bothered her. Neither my work-related delays nor meetings interrupted by you, nor Afghan nightmares. She endured everything with calmness and was so forgiving. She was everything I wanted in a woman. "

John paused to gather his thoughts. He wanted to finally get rid of the frustration that had been growing in him for some time.

"She was really perfect, but at the same time this peace was unbearable. In the long run it was killing me. Maybe you will not believe, but sometimes I wanted you to text me that you have some urgent matter. " 

Sherlock listened with an inscrutable expression on his face, though his stomach was just dancing samba for joy. He was sorry to see John in this condition, but at the same time he could not help but enjoy the matter. John once again belonged only to him. 

Watson was looking somewhere into the distance, deep in his thoughts, and Sherlock took the opportunity and took in him with his eyes. Suddenly, in one gulp, he drank what he had in a glass and put it on the table with a crash. He dropped to his knees in front of John, who looked at him in surprise. Through his eyes it could be seen, that he had a few drinks.

"John, I did not give you a birthday present. "

Sherlock's hands, initially based on his friend's knees, began a slow journey along his thighs. John twitched, but he did not push him away.

"You do not have to... "  
"But I want to…"

He has long since crossed the point where it could still be considered a friendly pat on the leg and they both knew it. They looked into each other's eyes, and Sherlock's fingers gently stroked the inside of John's thigh.

"Christ, Sherlock, what are you doing?!" Watson made little convincing resistance; the detective knew that if this situation upset him, he would just leave.  
"John, please. I want this and you want it too, you will not deny it. "

In fact, John could not deny a distinct erection against his pants. He knew he should not have let it happen at all, but the sight of Sherlock kneeling between his legs and the request, spoken hoarsely in lust, whispered too much into his imagination. Oh, he wanted very much at the moment, but he was afraid of the consequences.

Sherlock's hands grazed his thighs more and more, and finally John nodded, because he did not trust his own voice. He closed his eyes trying not to think. Seeing the permissive nod, Sherlock felt a thrill of excitement and fear. He knew he should be careful, but his own lust rushed him forward.

He unbuttoned John's pants and touched him through the material of the boxers. With satisfaction he noted the quiet gasping. He began kissing him, still through his boxers, feeling he harden more and more. He released John's swollen dick from his underwear. He gently kissed his head to lick the core in a moment. The doctor's heavy breath told him that it is good. He felt his fingers intertwine in his hair, but John did not try to impose anything. Finally, he took him in his mouth, and John moaned and clenched fingers in his curls. Sherlock sucked him and caressed him with his tongue, and Watson's breathing was faster and faster. He was close a few times, but then Sherlock paused and waited until the tension dropped. Nervous jerks of hips gave him to understand that John wanted more. One time he risked a gentle nibbling and in response with pleasure he heard a moan.

"Sherlock, please ...! "

His own painful erection pressed against his pants, so he touched himself through the material. He ran his tongue from the base to the tip of John's dick, who shuddered. He sucked him, helping himself with his hand where he did not reach his lips. John's breathing became quick and spasmodic.

"Watch out," Watson warned him, but Sherlock did not take his head back.

John came with a groan, and when he finally opened his tightly closed eyelids, Sherlock was just wiping his mouth from John's semen. Thoughts in his head rolled erratically, and the only bright one was that his friend had just gave him a perfect blowjob. That and the blue eyes staring at him were enough to make it hard again. Eroticism seemed to emanate from Sherlock, so John decided not to spoil the moment with unnecessary implications – he pushed him on the rug and after a while he knelt between his scattered legs. He squeezed him through his trousers but, although it clearly pleased him, Sherlock protested.

"John, you do not have to. I can handle it. "  
"I owe you…"

He unbuttoned Holmes's pants and took their penises in his hand. Sherlock did not close his eyes, but he did not look at John as he began to move his hand rhythmically. As the rate increased, Sherlock's breathing became more and more irregular. He rolled his eyes absent-mindedly while John watched him closely. He knew he was feeling good, but at the same time he sensed some uncertainty. He paused, and then Sherlock finally focused his eyes on him.

John was not thinking anymore – something took over him – as he slowly leaned in and gently kissed Sherlock. The surprised detective stirred and tensed up – he did not expect anything so... emotional at this point. He only woke up when he felt that John wanted to move away. He opened his mouth slightly and brushed the other man's lips with his tongue. Encouraged by this, Watson dared to deepen the kiss, and Sherlock decided that he had already set himself up enough, so he greedily pulled him closer. The doctor began to stroke their cocks again, and Holmes whispered his approval into his mouth. He was running out of breath when John moved his interest to the detective's neck. He was kissing and biting while trying to unbutton his lover's shirt; buttons that did not want to give up were torn off. Finally, John began to shower his pale breast with kisses, and Sherlock groaned and writhed at this caress, demanding more. The blond slid his hand down and began massaging his entrance to put his fingers in it. Soon Holmes found himself on the edge, but then John stopped and took up the lips of the younger man again.

Sherlock felt like everything was spinning around and his body was burning. John's touch burned him and made him mad. He wanted him so much that it hurt.

"John," he moaned in a weak voice between two heavy breaths.  
"Yes? "

John's lips were close to his ear, which he now nibbled and licked. His fingers were still teasing Sherlock's inside.

"Oh, John, please...! "

The last word changed into a pleading groan that John felt in his loins. He changed his position to lean more confidently on his knees and pulled Sherlock's pants off. He looked into his lusty, hazy eyes.

"If you only knew how beautiful you are now. "

He slowly entered into him. Sherlock groaned and bit his lip, and John remained motionless for a moment so that he could get used to him. He gently kissed his jaw and neck, wanting him to relax. At last he felt the man loosened up a bit, so he began to move carefully. He accelerated gradually, and Sherlock sighs louder and louder. John was already feeling hot in his stomach, but he wanted Sherlock to came first. When the detective's breath began to break, John knew he was close. He caught his cock and started moving his hand to the rhythm of thrusts. After a moment, Sherlock's back arched, and his inside tightened on John. He pushed a few more times and let the orgasm spill over his body from the crotch to the tips of his fingers and boomed in his head.

He leaned his forehead against his friend's shoulder and waited for his breathing to calm down. Then he pulled off his shirt and wiped Sherlock and himself with it. He adjusted his pants and leaned his back against his own chair. They both panted like after a long run and began to realize what had just happened.

Sherlock first came to his senses. Grimacing at his aching back and ass, he stood up with the intention of hiding in his room, because he was afraid that John would leave first. Or worse, he will apologize to him and assure him that it will not happen again. Watson, however, had other intentions. As Sherlock passed by, he grabbed his hand and forced him to sit next to him.

"You're not going anywhere. We have to talk. "

He obeyed without a word of objection. They both remained silent for a moment, and John was gathering several times to say anything, but everything seemed to him either tender or trivial.

"Does it hurt a lot?" he finally asked, to somehow break the silence.  
"A little," said Holmes.  
"Next time I will try to be gentler," John promised.  
"Next time?" The detective lifted an eyebrow.

John tousled his hair, then smoothed it down, scratched his nose until he could not delay it anymore.

"Sherlock, if I'm to be honest, I've had the best sex in my life. I'd be a fool, claiming that I would not like to repeat it and a liar if I said it was just about sex," he looked at Holmes with a look in which the firmness mixed with fear. "Good God, Sherlock, I think I just fell in love with you. " 

They sat in silence for a moment, then began to giggle. And they giggled like that for all five minutes, after which John got up and reached out a hand to Sherlock.

"Come," he said, smiling faintly, "we'll check if in the bed it will go just as well. "

He did not have to repeat it twice.


End file.
